Head Over Feels

After giving the midtown steakhouse a quick scan, I approach the host. Wearing a white shirt and a skinny black tie, the host asks, “Do you have a reservation?”

Holding the phone against my chest, I reply, “Marché.”

“Ah, yes. Your party is already seated. Follow me.” He turns swiftly and guides me through the restaurant.

Holding the phone to my ear, I whisper, “You’re already here. You’re such an asshole.”

“Wish I knew what the fuck you were talking about. I’m sitting in my apartment. Just turned on the game. I take it you’re not coming over?”

The host stops at a booth in the corner where Marlow and her father are engaged in a lively conversation. I pause, wondering where everyone else is, before turning around and heading back out before the Marchés have time to notice me. “Are you serious?” I whisper through gritted teeth. “You’re not at this dinner.”

“I don’t have a clue about that dinner.”

I push the door and step out onto the sidewalk, starting to sweat under my suit. I tug at the collar, and gripe, “Why aren’t you here?”

He starts crunching on what I can assume are Cheetos. The man eats them like he holds stock in the company. “Guess I wasn’t invited.”

Motherfuck. I pace the sidewalk with the phone glued to my ear. “How can I get out of it?”

“Doesn’t sound like you can, man.”

“I should be able to on principle alone. She told me he wanted to have dinner. I assumed it was with everyone, not just with me and her and Bob.”

“Sounds cozy.” He chuckles. “But if she didn’t tell you, and then you assumed, I think that means it’s on you. Anyway, bright side—you get a free dinner. Her dad loves to splash the cash around.”

I’m sure, but I’d rather not be here at all. “Yeah, okay.” I roll my eyes.

“Cade is on his way to my place, so it’s safe to say he didn’t know about the dinner either. Just go in, have a good meal, and come over later.”

I sigh. The high I was riding all day after spending last night with Tealey has faded. Rubbing my forehead, I pinch my eyes closed. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Rad?” Marlow calls from behind me. “We already have a table in the back.”

Glancing back over my shoulder, I give her a nod and then point at my phone. “I’ll be right there.” She disappears back inside. I grip the back of my neck and then tell Jackson, “Don’t drink all the beer. I’m heading over afterward.”

Determined to make the most of this dinner, I hang up and re-enter the restaurant, passing the host. “I see them.” I’m hoping this isn’t about his divorce, but a dinner among friends. I remain hopeful as I cut through the bustling restaurant.

Checking my watch, I say, “Right on time,” when I arrive tableside. “How are we?”

Bob is dressed casually in a short-sleeved button-up, repping California to a T, and Marlow is in designer from head to toe, per usual. She has great style, albeit eccentric some days. She smiles. “Fantastic. You?”

“Peachy. No one else is joining us, or everyone’s running late?”

She pats the booth beside her. “Dad thought it would be fun for the three of us to catch up.” Red flags fly up as my gaze darts between them. Not only is there no backup for me in managing Marlow if this goes off the rails, but she’ll flip if she finds out I met with her dad just yesterday. Thanks, Bob.

This should be fun . . .

Reaching forward, Bob and I shake hands. “Good to see you again, Mr. Marché.” I slide into the booth.

“Bob works.” His gruff voice is loud enough to draw the attention of the surrounding tables. “Marlow and I were just discussing cryptocurrency. I’m dabbling. Got any good tips for me?”

“Just dabbling myself. It’s like the Wild West. You never know if you’ll strike gold or lose it all.”

Marlow sits in the middle of us with a big grin, playing innocent. She knew it would only be us when she invited me. It would have been nice to be in on the plan, especially since he’s now my client. The omission means it was on purpose and leaves me in a vulnerable position. Do I treat him like a client or her dad? I’ve known him for years, and we’ve always been friendly and gotten along, but things have changed in the past thirty-six hours. And more than just professionally. I shoot Marlow a glare. I may not know why she only invited me, but everything she does has a reason behind it.

When she whispers, “Don’t hate me,” my face must say everything I haven’t. Moving on like everything is A-OK, she says, “We ordered drinks while we were waiting. Whiskey neat, right?”

“That works.” Make it a double if he tells Marlow I’m representing him before the first course.